


Glass and Paper

by Steadfxst



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Angst, Crying, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 05:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14610183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steadfxst/pseuds/Steadfxst
Summary: Jim drinks a bottle of wine out of a paper cup and tries not to think about what happens next.





	Glass and Paper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navree/gifts).



The first cup, he swallows without really tasting it or feeling much of anything. There’s a sort of numbness that accompanies the shock of it all. The plane is barely off the ground, and he’s already one cup in, but he finds himself uncorking the bottle and pouring more into the paper cup the flight attendant had handed him.

He gulps it.

He’s a very tall man, so it doesn’t hit him right away. The bottle was for Patrice, but Jim knows she’ll understand. Or so he tells himself.

He doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ understand.

It’s not until his fourth cup that he realizes his hands are trembling, so he holds the neck of the bottle in one hand and grips his fragile paper cup in the other to give himself something to hold on to.

He laughs bitterly. His current mainstays are glass and paper. How poetic.

After his sixth cup, he’s feeling butterflies in his stomach and his face is hot. He rests his cheek against the window in the hopes it would cool him down. Or maybe the scenery would calm him down. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s everything else, but the beauty of the sunset at 30,000 feet makes him gasp.

He puts a hand to his cheek, and it comes back wet. He didn’t even realize he’d been crying.

Jim pours cup number nine, and he notes that the bottle is nearly empty. That’s okay because the pilot said they were almost there. He sips this one, and he imagines his lips are stained purple-red. Gosh, what a picture he must make. Puffy eyes, mottled lips, hair limp from his penchant for nervous sweating. 

He probably looked like he’d been beaten up… _God._

Jim pours cup ten, and the pilot tells him they’re getting ready for descent. He nods and sips. He giggles. An aid gives him a pitying look.

“Do you want me to hold on to that for you, sir?” she asks.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he says, slurring slightly on his l’s.

_I think it’s a llllllitllllle llllate for that._

Jim looks down at the bottle; there was barely another cup left. A sob escapes him before he knows what’s happening. He pours the last cup as the plane swoops downward. His stomach drops with it, and for a brief moment, he hopes they crash, and that he dies before he reminds himself to stop being so melodramatic.

He drinks the last cup quickly, knowing that once they landed, he’d have to hurry home to dodge reporters. He feels some dribble out of the corner of his mouth like blood from a split lip.

Jim thanks everyone on the plane for everything. There’s a blur of handshakes and rushed thank-yous before someone is shoving him into a black car that takes him home. Patrice is waiting at the door, wringing her hands.

She takes in his face and his untucked shirt tails and loosened tie.

“You’re drunk,” she says in a soft way that makes him feel ashamed.

“I’m—I’m really sorry,” he says. “I thought we’d share it.”

He holds the empty bottle out to her pitifully.

She ignores it and throws herself into his arms. Jim drops his luggage and the bottle, which somehow doesn’t shatter, but rolls away from them intact.

“I love you,” Patrice says.

Jim feels something in his chest stitch back together.

“I love you too.”


End file.
